


Popcorn

by Anomiac



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types, Carmilla - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 17:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14140965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anomiac/pseuds/Anomiac
Summary: A young news host has to reevaluate her beliefs when she runs into a broody popcorn thief at a movie theater.(Soulmate AU)





	1. Chapter 1

I wake up alone and lay in bed listening to the hum of the refrigerator in the next room until the alarm on my phone goes off and it's time to get up and get ready for work. I do so lazily. I love my job, but some days I'd rather stay in bed watching Doctor Who re-runs rather than go out of my way to look good for some cameras, and today is one of those days. I have a strong feeling that it will be just as ordinarily dull as any other day, and that feeling doesn't diminish once I get to work and look at the lineup of reports for today. 

It's a Sunday, an ordinary Sunday for everyone else, but at News station 307 it's 'Soulmate Sunday', always said with a hint of awe in the mouths of my co-host and crew and everyone else watching, but from me it's always with exaggerated flare because all in all, it's nothing but a story. It's something society created to tell kids so that they'll focus on academics and stop trying to fall in love too soon. Other than the people I interview every Sunday -- who could very well be actors for all I know -- I've never met anyone who's ever met their soulmate. Not even my parents, who loved each other so much that it killed them.

So I do the ditzy interviews and suppress my frown when a doe-eyed girl with a southern accent tells her story about how she met her husband at a casino when they accidentally touched hands and the slot machines and ATM's went haywire and started spitting out coins and money through the 'power of love' and 'soulmate's first touch'.  They got married last week using the money they got from the slots. Where do they find these people?

Something like that could never be real.

I love my job, I really do, but when it comes to soulmates I have a hard time getting that journalistic edge, and it makes me question whether I should be in front of the camera at all. Maybe I'd do better out in the field, or going out to do interviews and write articles. Anything would be better than reporting nonsense. It stopped being fun when I realized that I'm the only one who thinks the whole soulmate thing is fake. I feel like the only one in the entire world.

When the clock strikes one, the replacements step onto set and we switch out. 

"Hey, great job today, Laura!" my co-host, Bob, says to me. He's a very tall man with curly brown hair, and when he smiles his mustache stretches with it and it lights up his friendly blue eyes. Some would say his positivity is infectious, but today I don't feel it. He belongs on the news more than I do. He towers by me while we remove our wiring.

"You too, Bob," I reply and try my best to smile, but I feel off today and my facial muscles aren't working like they should.

"Can you believe that casino story? Man I can't wait for that to happen to me!" He's his usual excited self, and it hurts that I can't be like that too. I wish I could be so blissfully unaware. Maybe then I would feel like I fit in with everyone else who's soulmate obsessed.

"Yeah, me too," I say as I force my lips to smile wider until it feels like my face is going to split in half and reveal the monstrous, festering ball of negativity that rests inside. Soulmates are like Santa. You can't just tell a kid that Santa doesn't exist. You have to let them have hope and joy in believing that there's this mystical thing that gives you everything you want in life simply because you are alive. 

We go our separate ways without much else to say other than goodbye.

The moment I leave the station, I instantly dread having to go back to my apartment and spend the rest of the day alone. Work is a nice distraction, but I have so little else in my life that I find myself floundering around searching for something to do to occupy my time whenever I'm not working. Today I decide to go to the movies.

Barring the cost of one ticket and a large bucket of popcorn, I get into the theater with relative ease and find my seat in the middle of the sea of seats to get the best view of the screen. My bucket of popcorn is resting on the popcorn holder attached to the arm rest. Fancy.

People start trickling in in groups both big and small until almost every seat is filled, including the ones around me, which isn't too big of a deal since I am here by myself.

The movie starts without a hitch. It's all loud noises and big show-offy effects, but I didn't expect anything less. I barely even paid attention to what movie I chose to see. But it has its effect. The monitony of every day life starts to fade away as I get more invested, and I fall into a rhythm of grabbing a handful of popcorn every once in a while to slowly eat the pieces one by one, and then repeatingthe action.

The super-hero guy just came face to face with the evil dude and they're about to fight it out on the rooftops of Manhattan. Everyone in the theater is on the edge of their seats as the two supers fight it out, slamming eachother into buildings and throwing punches. The super hero just got knocked to the ground off of a tall building by the villan in what is supposed to be the most exciting point of the movie when I reached my hand down to grab another handful of popcorn, but instead I grab another hand. Sparks radiate up my arm.

The theater goes pitch black and amongst the dissatisfied groans of the movie goers I feel as if I'm the one that's been punched off the highest building in Manhattan. I feel the darkness closing in on me and my breath comes in short gasps as if I'm suffocating. I feel the cotton in my lungs expand painfully as I try to breathe. It's like I've been buried alive deep under the ground where nobody can find me. It makes my heart clench painfully the amount of anger that courses through me with no explanation. Just as I feel like I'm about to pass out, the emergency lights come back on.

There she is, the person whose hand I'm still holding onto as if my life depends on it. Letting go would mean letting my life slip through my fingers -- or at least it feels that way. The raven-haired woman in front of me has shock written across her pale face

"Did we do that?" I ask hesitantly as I begin to question everything I believe about soulmates. My voice only slightly raises over the chatter of the other grumbling movie goers, but she stills hears it. 

"It was just a coincidence," she says quickly and takes her hand back, as if suddenly realizing they were touching, and instead runs it through her hair and sighs. Instantly, I feel the sparks stop and it starts getting easier to breathe, but my heart is still pounding in my chest.

"But it was-" She stands up and starts making her way to the side aisle to leave, not taking into consideration the feet she's stepping on or the angry yells following her as she makes her exit. Quickly I shoot up from my seat and follow her. 

It's been too many years since the last time I had something with someone that meant something. Something more than co-host or the pizza delivery guy. I'll be damned if I let her leave like this without another word. I ignore the strange looks and follow her out of the movie theater and into the brisk October night.

"Hey!" I call out to her between shivers and watch in stone silence as my breath turns to vapor in the frigid air. Maybe you can't avoid suffering for what you believe is right, but it couldn't have hurt to at least bring a jacket.

The dark haired girl freezes. I can barely tell that she's there because she's wearing all black and she blends in with the darkness around us, but her pale arms are poking out of her shirt. She's stopped under a streetlamp, conveniently.

"I'm Laura," I tell her. I see her shoulders heave as she takes a deep breath. I walk closer until we would be face to face -- if she were facing me.

"I don't believe in this stuff, Laura. I only just met you."

"Yeah, and shouldn't that tell you something?"

"Tell me what? That apparently society has a better hold on hopeless romanticism than I thought? That I should be one of those crazies who loses their minds over a power outage like you?" She's finally facing me. Her face is lit with the bright white glow above us, casting our two separate shadows across the asphalt.

"That's not who I am, but-" I pause and take a deep breath as I search for the words that feel so foreign to me. Any time before now it would have been said sarcastically, but now things are drastically different; "Isn't your heart racing? Pounding? Mine is." The woman looks away off into the night, her reticent mask breaking with the pained expression that crosses her features before she's looking back at me, and I continue, "Maybe it's true. Maybe it isn't just a story people tell to get on the news. What if- what if it's real. What if it's happening to us?

"Something like this could never be real for someone like me," she says grimly and shies away from my prying gaze when I try to look into her eyes to see what lies behind. She looks off into the night again.

"What do you mean?"

"I- nothing. I'm unlovable." The way she says it, curt and with a dismissive shake of her head, I know it isn't the real reason she believes she's undeserving. Her bare arms cross in front of her as if she's trying to protect her image of aggression. Intuition is telling me she's definitely hiding something. I can feel my heart reach out to her even after she's rejected it so many times already.

"Nobody's unlovable," I tell her simply and with as much sincerity as I can. Even my dad loves me, even if he's always working and never has time for me anymore.

"Then consider me nobody." 

"You're my soulmate!" I wince when I recognize a hint of crazed hopeless romantic in my tone, but the cringe of realizing that I'm turning into the kind of person I've always hated doesn't outweigh my need to convince this mystery woman that she should at least try. Soulmate or not, she's starting to get on my nerves. I'm really trying here!

"Will you stop bringing that up? We're not soulmates!" Her voice raises and mine raises in kind.

"Well, what happened back there says something different!"

"Jesus, you're insufferable," she groans with her head thrown back to look up at the sky

"There's a reason we were chosen for each other," I mutter, loud enough for her to hear if the way her steady gaze locks onto mine. We stand a few feet apart staring at each other, sizing each other up. It feels like seconds, minutes, hours, I can't tell. The intensity of her eyes scares all the rational thoughts from my mind, but I do my best not to break under it. I have no idea what's going on in her head, which might be half the reason why I feel drawn to her. Uncertainty is danger, and danger is what I've always been running toward, according to my dad.

"I'm Carmilla," She eventually says. Her arms fall to her sides limply. The sudden shift in temperament makes me blink and furrow my eyebrows in confusion, but I don't have much time to question it before she's reaching into her front pocket and approaching to grab my arm so she can shove a piece of paper into the palm of my hand, eyes aimed at the ground. "Call me. Sometime," she adds, only sparing one glance at my face before she turns around and walks away again. This time I decide not to chase after her. 

I take in the hand-written numbers written on the small, frayed slip of paper, and I smile genuinely for the first time today

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey!_

**Carmilla** : Who is this

_Laura! lol From the movie theater. forget me already?_

**Carmilla** : Afraid not

_Hm. Do you like coffee?_

**Carmilla** : Is that an offer

_maybe... yes._

**Carmilla** : Sure.

_Great! :) Meet me at Cafe Lophii tomorrow at 7_

**Carmilla** : A.M.?

_When else? lol_

The next day I wake up thirty minutes before my alarm and I get out of bed for some languid early-morning stretches while I walk to the bathroom to take a shower and brush my teeth. I'm ready and out the door in record time, if we're not counting the time a rat got into my bed and I fled the apartment as fast as I could.

When I get to the cafe, Carmilla is already seated at a small table in the corner, shifting nervously and drumming her fingers against the coffee cup clutched in her hands as I make my way over to her.

"So... do you always carry your phone number around on tiny pieces of paper?" I ask inquisitively as I sit down across from her.

"On occasion." Her face remains blank and emotionless as if she already knew I was walking toward her, or maybe she just doesn't scare easy.

"And do you also make a habit of stealing other people's popcorn at movie theaters?"

"Is that a problem?"

"What if I had some kind of disease? You could've gotten sick."

"Do you have a disease, Laura?" Carmilla leans forward.

"N-no... Do you?" Laura looks at her sideways and Carmilla maintains eye contact until the involuntary quirk of her lips makes her look down and take a large sip from her mug, emptying it. She sets it down on the table top, sits back in her seat, and looks up at me again.

"Do you make a habit of asking endless questions?"

"Yes, actually," I tell her matter-of-factly," I studied journalism for five years in college."

"Figures."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Carmilla stares down at her empty cup again. She's blatantly avoiding all of my questions, but I decide to let it drop because the last thing I want to do is chase her away.

"You need a refill."

"Sounds like you also specialize in how to point out the obvious."

"I am a news host, after all." I can't stop my smile this time; I'm enjoying this conversation too much, even if Carmilla looks like she would rather be anywhere but here. I stand up before Carmilla has any time to see me smile and I take the coffee cup from her hands. 

Our fingers brush just barely as I grab it, but it still ignites sparks that neither of us can miss. I'm left standing there awkwardly holding the coffee cup an inch above the table while Carmilla places her hands on her lap under it.

"I," Carmilla starts, and then pauses to clear her throat, "I wonder why I've never seen you around."

"I'm on the morning news," I confirm and walk away with a smile when I see her shake her head and hear her mutter under her breath.

"Morning people..."

//

Now that I have Carmilla, things aren't too bad. I'm still not happy with my job, but at least I don't feel alone. Bob continues to be his Bob-self; happy and chipper 24/7, and we continue to report on sappy soulmate stories.

Except I don't have Carmilla. We got coffee once, and we text occasionally, but other than that the girl is elusive. My attempts to figure out what she does in her spare time when she's not stealing  popcorn from strangers at movie theaters haven't been effective.

My phone chimes and vibrates precariously toward the edge of my desk. I roll my chair closer and pick it up before it clatters to the floor. Carmilla's name is written in bold letters above a preview of the text.

**Carmilla** : What time do you broadcast

_Why? lol_

**Carmilla** : so I can watch.

I'm not sure four words have ever made my heart beat this fast. Suddenly I'm a lot more nervous for my next broadcast. I nearly fall out of my seat when my phone chimes impatiently with a new message.

**Carmilla** : so?

_6 A.M._

**Carmilla** : you're killing me, hollis.

_Nobody's asking you to watch, Carm ;)_

**Carmilla** : shut up. 

Her words dig cotton balls into my open wounds. They place kisses on scraped skin. They wipe away red tears. They kiss away the urge to hesitate and take a breath. I can barely contain the way my heart gorges itself on the blissful feeling her words produce. It singes my skin with grotesque tingles up and down my arms and neck. How could something so wonderful feel like bugs creeping under my skin and digging in to make their welcome?

I'm a benevolent host, but at least part of me knows it's way too irrational to be thinking this way so soon. She could be murderous, or a lumberjack, or a murderous lumberjack! I'm getting off topic. I barely know her. The only thing I truly know, besides how she looks, is that she's my soulmate.

Somehow--nobody actually knows--she was chosen for me. Out of everyone else in the world, she's connected to me. It almost doesn't make sense, but the feelings are there.

The suffocating feeling, like I'm buried underneath everything and it feels like it's going to kill me because I can barely breathe with it all. At the same time, though, it's invigorating. It's Carmilla. 

//

The next morning, I wake up at before my alarm with an unnerving sense of motivation buzzing under my skin. The kind that makes it very difficult to sit still for too long. I manage to wait until the three shrill beeps cut through the silence before I get up. 

I dress in a silky flower print blouse with a dark brown blazer and dress pants, and then I brush my hair and teeth and do my makeup with a smile, which feels even weirder than it sounds.

Since I decided to skip my long-lasting tradition of an episode of Doctor Who before I absolutely have to get up and get ready, I have enough time to eat and even check my email. The last time I made a conscious decision to do that, I think I was in college stuffing my face with brownies.

I look down at the toasted whole wheat and let out a disapproving huff. Too bad things had to change. Stupid health. Stupid genetics. Stupid blood sugar. I chomp down and start opening emails.

Nothing good. Nothing bad. At least it saves me the trouble of stressing over nothing. Quickly I exit the browser window and head out the door, having spend the majority of my free time deleting spam and looking at volunteer opportunities. It did serve to distract me from what might happen today. 

But, although I try my best to tamp down on my nerves with boring distractions, the idea of Carmilla getting up at some ungodly hour just to watch me sends jolts every which way through my nervous system. I remind myself that Carmilla might still be sleeping. She might not even watch. In hindsight, I should've told her that her broadcast runs from 6 to 11:30... but oh well.

The bright studio lights flicker on one by one on the large news set as I attach my mic to my blouse. At my side, Bob towers over me and sends a bright smile my way. Returning it almost feels like second nature at this point.

It's his friendly countenance that makes me feel guilty about wanting to leave the station and find a job more fitting for what I want to do in life.

Thoughts of Carmilla wedge their way into my mind, irritatingly enough. Thoughts of how my soulmate doesn't want or need me in her life. Of how I'm nothing to her at this point. Of how I will never feel anything for any other person in this world as strongly as I feel for her.

It's downright depressing, and all the more confusing because, if that were all true, then why would Carmilla watch the broadcast or text me?

A comforting hand lands on my slouched shoulder. "What are you thinking about, Kiddo?"

"It's nothing," I quickly dismiss, turning so that his hand falls off my shoulder. I shoot a friendly smile his way.

Thankfully, the bell rings to signal that the broadcast is on in five minutes and we rush to the stage to set up.

_5..._

_4..._

_3..._

_2..._

_"Good morning, gentle viewers! I'm Laura Hollis and this is my co-host Bob Mayhed. Today in the world of Silas, we have mystery, intrigue, and a boy whose talent astounds even the most terrible people in the world. Stay tuned for more information, coming up."_

You got this Laura... you just have six more hours of this nonsense. 

_"Who stole all of the cookies from the convenience store on Brenton and 3rd? The investigators of the Silas Investigative Police Department may never know, but they are not willing to give up any time soon. We'll be right back."_

Carmilla's watching. You can't look bad in front of Carmilla.. Come on, you can do it.

_"Scientists have discovered that nearly half of the people who ride bikes in this part of the world, do not know how to properly drive a car. What does that tell you about today's generation, folks?"_

I swear if I have to report on one more idiotic study, I will not hesitate to throw down my mic and leave.

_"Introducing... Harris Wilson, the #1 Silas puppy whisperer!"_

Harris steps onto the stage and walks over to the seat next to mine, waving at the camera. He smiles and sits down.

"Hello, Harris. How are you doing today? How old are you?"

"I'm good! I'm eight," he says, holding up nine fingers. The smile on my face doesn't falter. Being on this station for so long, I know how bringing children on set can go downhill pretty fast, and it's important to always be calm and accepting.

"I heard you have a special talent?"

"Yeah! I talk to dogs. I know what they think." The boy, with floppy brown hair and short legs, kicks his feet against the front of the chair he's sitting in, his hands clasped in his lap.

"Would you like to show us? We have a puppy and we'd like to know what he's thinking right now." When the boy nods eagerly, I nod at the man off stage and smile. The short man picks up the puppy and walks him on stage to place him in the seat next to Harris who immediately lights up at the sight of the small tawny-furred pup.

"Puppy!!" The way the boy lunges at the dog is a bit concerning, but a puppy whisperer probably knows what he's doing better than a news host does. Plus, this puppy is friendly.

"So, what is he thinking right now?" I inquire. Harris turns his head and cups his ear, as if to listen. After a few seconds, the boy turns back to me his eyes stern and unwavering.

"He wants me to pet him," he tells me with single, firm nod, and then does so.

In my professional opinion, dogs who bare their teeth do not want anyone to touch their fur... but this kid is a... _"puppy whisperer."_

The dog starts growling and I try my best to stay in my seat. I keep my eyes vigilant when the boy tugs at the dog's ear and gets on his knees so that he's face to face with the pup.

Fuck it! I don't want this station to get sued if this kid gets bitten! 

The boy leans his face closer to the puppy just as I shoot out of my chair and grab his shoulders to pull him back. Just as quickly, the puppy's jaws snap where Harris's face would have been if I had not pulled him back.

"Harris! Be more careful!" I tell him, leaning down to be face to face. The boy has his lower lip pouted out, and his eyes water dangerously. I know what comes next... _shit_.

"I just w-wanted to p-pet the puppy, mean lady!!" Harris wails at the top of his lungs as tears waterfall down his cheeks. It takes all of my willpower not to march of stage and scream in frustration. I'm acutely aware that the cameras are still rolling, so I reign my anger in and shake my head.

"You could've gotten hurt," I say, softer. It's no use. The boy cries even louder, and his mom comes on set to lead him away and stare at me with a piercing glare that speaks of reports and complaints and possible law suits for laying a single hand on her child. 

_WHY IS THE CAMERA STILL ROLLING?!_

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Only one person ever texts me... the same person who said they would be watching. I feel like kicking myself into a volcano would be a better option than to take my phone out to check the message, but my fingers itch with the need to read what she's said and respond--I can't help myself. I find a secluded corner.

**Carmilla** : good job, cupcake. I misjudged you. turns out you might be just as terrible as me, if not more.

_I was trying to save him!!!_

**Carmilla** : whatever helps you sleep at night

_I bet youve made more than a few children cry! what's your excuse_

**Carmilla** : I'm a monster, cutie. they _should_ cry.

I spend the rest of my shift, which is thankfully only thirty minutes, recapping what happened earlier in the broadcast. The transcript conveniently skips over the incident with the dog, to my utmost relief. 

By the end of the day, I'm questioning when would be the best time to quit and turn my back on the news host life. It isn't all it's cracked up to be. I've been going nowhere for almost two years, and now I'm making children cry!

I leave right when the afternoon hosts arrive, mind racing as I make my way out of the building. Even when I step out onto the sidewalk, I'm still turning the events of the day and Carmilla's words over in my mind. She doesn't seem like an entirely nice person, but what could Carmilla have done to make her believe she deserves to be called a monster?

On the walk home and the subsequent hours I spend by myself, alone, one singular thought traces a lackadaisical circle inside my head: _She called me cutie._

 


	3. Chapter 3

I didn't expect for work to be as taxing as it was today, but I ended up having to stay until 5 P.M. signing liability wavers and forms to make sure the incident with the "puppy whisperer" never happens again. I thought I stopped having to lie in order to appease people when I came out to my dad, but apparently not. They _forced_ me to accept full responsibility and apologize on live television.  In front of everyone. _Including_ Carmilla, who made sure to let me know that she would be watching. 

You know what? An active volcano sounds just delightful for a nice vacation! Let me get my diving gear real quick. No no, I'll be just fine. I don't need my skin anyway. That's what identifies me as the "girl that abused that little kid on the news" to the millions of people who saw the video. So just take it all. Skin, bones, organs, guts, viscera. Let it burn. 

It's not just being labeled as an evil witch that makes me feel like nothing is going to get better. It's how this event might affect my reputation as a host, a person. What future opportunities I won't be considered for. The struggle I'll face if I ever make the decision to quit my job and become a journalist instead. All in all, there is no bright side to this situation whatsoever, so why don't I wallow for a bit?

Skipping dinner is what I need; along with a few pints of beer, and several shots of something clear.

After my first pint, my phone vibrates where it lays on the bar. I turn it off and put it face down on the bar, and then I signal to the bartender for another. Whoever it is can definitely wait until tomorrow. 

Tonight is for me, not overly-friendly co-hosts, or brooding soulmates. I don't have the energy to try to be Laura Hollis today, or whoever I am when I'm super-gluing that smile to my face. 

What would Carmilla think if she saw me right now, drinking my worries away? She saw the broadcast, and how I tried my hardest to keep an honest face while looking at Harry, the pretentious little shit he is. I tried so hard to be genuine, but I wanted to slap that kid.

Even if Carmilla doesn't know it, she saw it happening in front of her eyes. She saw the horrible person that I am. I just wonder how long it will take for her to realize it. Let it sink in.

There's nothing tying her to me. It's all superficial and meaningless. In the grand spectrum of the universe, the earth could be blown up tomorrow and it wouldn't even matter. Soulmates would cease to exist, and nothing would change. All of culture, history, language, and community is destroyed in an instant and the only lasting impression is the rubble that indicates that something once lived there. Not even what it was, or what it meant.

Just that there was something, and now it's gone. 

Carmilla is like that.

This woman, my soulmate, seems so timeless and wise, but in an instant she can disappear and the only sign that she was ever here would be the fracture in my heart.

What if that fracture never heals? What if I go the rest of my life aching--yes, aching--for something that never was. 

I nearly spill beer all over myself trying to down the next pint in one gulp.

"Slow down," a soft voice orders from the seat next to me. The first thing I see when I place the glass back on the bar is leather clad arms, and then I glance up to see the soft corner of Carmilla's jaw, and then her pink lips. My gaze zigzags until it lands on her brown eyes, dark in the dimly lit bar.

"What are you doing here?" I nearly slur, with the alcohol hitting me harder than usual since I skipped both lunch and dinner. Carmilla turns toward me and picks up my phone, trying to turn it on, I guess.

"Why did you turn your phone off?" she asks, ignoring my question. Or maybe that question is her answer. My mind is getting too addled to be sure, or to care at all. I shrug lopsidedly and signal for another beer. Carmilla sits close enough to me that I feel her shift and sigh.

She's temporary, but she's there. I have to tell myself not to move closer to her to create a lasting impression of her shoulder against mine.

"How'd you find me?" I ask with sudden curiosity. I feel her tense, which only piques my interest even more, but she shakes her head and huffs.

"I was going to search every bar in town. Guess I got lucky finding you on the first try," she says with a shrug, staring at the rows of brown and clear bottles adorning the shelves behind the bar. There's something behind her words. Some thread of ambiguity that my fingers itch to pull at, but my brain is so fuzzy that I can't get a hold on it. What is it... what is it...

"I'll walk you home," her voice cuts through my thoughts, undoing all my concentration. She's staring at me like she's willing to drag me out of this building, and I don't doubt it.

Life is weird like that. It's more temporary than anything, but it doesn't give you much room to breathe. It's what you revolve around. It's what keeps you alive. It drags you around even when you don't want it to, and you have no choice but to let it. Reluctantly, I concede.

"Okay..."

We make it back to the apartment with relative ease, because there are nearly a hundred bars in this city, so any apartment or house is well within drunk walking distance of a decent place to grab a few drinks. My skin buzzes where she holds onto me to make sure that I don't face plant on concrete. The tingly feeling radiates throughout and centers on one unfortunate area which I would be more embrassed about if I were a bit more sober.

The feeling goes away--or at least I tell myself that it does--when we make it to my doorstep and she has to let go to open the door. I immediately miss the pressure of her hand on my upper arm. I feel lost without it.

And Carmilla, she's practically shining in the bright porch light that I now realize that I forgot to turn off when I left for the bar earlier. Her long fingers fumble through the various keys to find the Tardis blue key that I had made when I first moved here.

I can imagine the way those fingers would feel running up and down my body. How it would feel to have them slip inside. An involuntary shiver runs through me.

So, yeah. That feeling? Not completely gone.

Carmilla looks up from the keys with the blue one clutched between her thumb and forefinger, and adopts a concerned expression.

"Are you cold?" She asks. It's a relatively warm night, though. I look at the black t-shirt she has on and then look up to meet her eyes again.

"Y-yes," I lie, not wanting to know what she would ask if I told the truth. I fake another shiver and huddle closer to her, "aren't you?"

After a moment, Carmilla replies carefully, "yes. Let's get inside."

She finally gets the door open and quickly walks in. Why is Carmilla lying to me so blatantly?

And then it hits me. Through my drunk haze, two threads of a story meet. Nearly a hundred bars in this city and Carmilla finds me on the first try. I don't know what to make of it, or what it even means. I think maybe she's just incredibly lucky, but how does that factor into her lying about being cold?

My mind reels and a bout of dizziness washes over me, causing sudden flashes of darkness flood my vision, completely black. I stumble back in shock, forgetting that I'm stood near the edge of the porch, where there are three steps down and then concrete. Lights flash before my eyes, cutting sharp lines through the black fog. I see a woman dressed in dark clothes, staring down at me, sneering, and then something closes over me and I'm in complete darkness again. Silence rings in my ears.

The sharp trill fades and I hear Carmilla calling my name. My eyes are shut so tight that it hurts when I open them. I have to blink a few times for the pain to go away and for the colorful spots to leave my vision, but when it's back to normal I see the overhang above my porch, and Carmilla hovering above me. No, she's sitting next to me. No, I'm in her lap. 

Her presense feels about as concrete as the pavement beneath us. It's... comforting.

"What happened?" I ask in a whisper. Her fingers are carding through my hair, drawing my attention to the cold sweat that coats my face and limbs. Gross.

"Let's get you inside, Cupcake. You're pale," she tells me, but it sounds muffled. She starts lifting me up to stand on my weak knees, and I'm glad that I'm able to lean on her for support as she guides me inside and onto the couch. The comfort of my home. The lady in black is a distant memory now.

"What happened?" I ask again, louder this time since I've got my bearings. Carmilla sits next to me, too far away, but angled toward me. The knees of her jeans are torn and bloody.

"You fainted, but I caught you." 

"Carm! You're bleeding!" I gasp. I try to get up but she pulls me back down onto the couch. My drunken limbs follow. I try to ignore the way her hand feels like buzzing electricity on my arm.

"I'm okay, creampuff. I'll take care of it," she tells me quickly. 

"At least let me take a look, I need t-"

"No. You need to rest." 

"Carmilla-" I try to plead.

"Laura." Her voice is stern, and a bit intimidating. It definitely isn't hot as fuck. I keep my mouth shut at that, but hold her gaze firm and challenging.

Carmilla's my soulmate, but what does that even mean? It certainly doesn't mean that we're honest with each other, that's for sure. But maybe it does mean that we care enough to want to help, even when we don't trust each other enough to accept it.

But Carmilla scraped her knees on concrete just to catch me. Someone who doesn't care about their soulmate doesn't get hurt in order to protect said soulmate! This is so damn confusing!

At first, I didn't care that she didn't believe in the whole soulmate thing. Hell, neither did I! Not really... But now we've hung out and talked, and...

There might be something to it. Is all.

Maybe the whole world is temporary and evetything ends tomorrow, but... They wouldn't give two people the ability to cause a power outage if it didn't mean something.

I sigh and shake my head before I stand up, letting my arms flop to my sides in defeat.

"Okay. I'll go. The bathroom is down the hall, on the right. The room acriss from it is mine. You can sleep with me if you want." My throat closes in embarrassment. Smooth, Hollis! Fucking smooth. "I-I mean like- here, you can sleep here! My couch. Not- with me..  it's..."

"I understand, Cupcake," she cuts me off with a small smirk, shoulders shaking lightly, "I'll be here in the morning."

"Okay, awesome, bye!" I rush into my room and immediately put my face in my hands, feeling the warmth of my cheeks against my palms. It might be my imagination, but I think I heard Carmilla laughing.

Utter mortification. Why do I let my vagina speak before my brain can filter out all the creepy way-too-soon-to-be-saying-especially-with-the-lies-and-deciet bullshit?

I'm supposed to be suspicious of her, not completely turned on to the point that I can't think straight. I groan and fall back onto the bed, bouncing twice before settling. If I could stop saying embarrassing things, life would be a lot more simple.

"Worst. Crush. Ever," I whisper into nothingness, like a small confession. If the world ends tomorrow, then I'll feel vindicated knowing that those words don't mean anything anymore, and I'll be free.

I won't have to be Laura Hollis, the Witch of News 307.

I won't be Laura Hollis, the failed Journalist.

Laura Hollis the shitty soulmate.

Laura Hollis, not good enough.

I close my eyes and pass out almost immediately to the sound of the bathroom door closing shut and the medicine cabinet opening.

 


End file.
